First memories are a difficult subject matter due to the fact that they are usually pretty manufactured, influenced by stories and photographs. I have tricked myself before into recalling false memories of family members funerals, i can give vivid accounts of my cousin crying or my aunt holding my hand, i can even describe the food that was served. When i do this though my mother reminds me that at these times i was only three or four and the possibility of me actually remembering these events is slim, instead i have seen enough photos of the events and heard stories of my cousin crying, my aunt holding my hand, and the below par catering service that was hired enough to feel like these memories are my own. They are in fact though only stolen, gathered in bits and pieces from family members in order to create a full memory. The understanding of my memory kleptomania has made it nearly impossible to decipher my own memories from those i have compiled with the stolen memories of others. So the one early memory that i am quite certain is originally mine is vague and obscure, an event that certainly wouldn't be photographed or reminisced in stories, it is simply the very blurry image of a vacuum salesman standing in my parents living room. there are no great details, i couldn't tell you what he looked like, how our living room was arranged or whether we bought a vacuum or not. I accept this memory despite its bland nature as one of the best i have because it is entirely mine, unchanged or tainted by the memories of others.